


The Cathedral is Burning

by twitchtipthegnawer



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Fantastic Racism, Forced Pregnancy, Multi, Political Alliances, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: To protect, to defend; that was what Bo had trained for. And he was of the personal belief that the best defense was a good offense.He would rend the entire world to pieces with a smile on his face, if it forced his hand. He would just rather shape the world into somethingworthrending first.(Since this is an as-yet unrevealed/undiscussed backstory for the campaign I'm currently playing with my friends, they're all banned from reading it. I don't trust them not to metagame. If you're reading this and you shouldn't be, you know who you are, and I'm very disappointed in you.)





	1. Building Up

**Rule number one: Never show your hand too early.**

“You’re going to do what?”

Bo’s second oldest brother, Amatus, dropped his knife to the plate with undisguised shock. Amatus was easy enough to surprise, for someone who knew him, and it was always gratifying.

His oldest brother, Caradoc, only raised a single golden-blond eyebrow in response. “You, planning to join the church? You’re hardly the most devout of our family.”

“Why not?” Bo continued to cut neat little bites off of his steak and set them on his tongue, chewing meticulously and swallowing before answering his brother. “The church is always welcoming to those willing to risk blood and bone for our Dark Prince.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Elska, his older sister, intoned. “Bo could use a purpose, and studies have hardly been kind to him.” She sounded airy and light and not at all as though Bo had discussed this with her just the previous day. He kicked her under the table, and she kicked back, with enough force to sting his ankle.

Drury, his younger brother, snorted and said, “Just admit it, you need a new stock of slips to beat to shit. You’ve made your way through our bunch twice already.”

“Language,” admonished Caradoc, calmly. He was scratching through his well-trimmed beard in thought, not paying the most attention to the conversation.

Tutting at Drury, Bo said, “I told you there was more to life than tormenting slaves, but you’re still reluctant to believe me, aren’t you.”

Whilst his younger brother was snorting derisively, Bo’s second youngest sister was staring at him with wide, unsure eyes. “Will they make you perform the obedience?” She sounded genuinely concerned. “I doubt you’ve the patience to meditate on glory every day.”

Unfortunately Bo was too far down the table to kick  _ her _ ankle.

Fallyn, on the other hand, had been rather quiet. Bo was curious to see how she’d respond, but was aware she was unlikely to do so at dinner, in front of the rest of their family. Elska interrupted his subtle inspection of Fallyn’s green, downturned gaze, with a somewhat loud, “If you are so eager for the life of the devout, then you won’t mind a bit of deprivation.”

With that, she attempted to stab at a leaf of greenery on the edge of his plate, and he fended her off with a blade sharp enough to slice a finger if she made one wrong move. She didn’t, as always. But it was what made her his favorite sibling.

His second favorite sibling predictably appeared in the entrance to his rooms late that night, her little feet pressing left over right, then right over left, soft arches flickering in and out of soft hearthlight shadow. “Bo,” she said softly. “Are you planning to retire early tonight?”

“Not at all,” he answered, placing the book he’d been reading on his bedside table. “Why?”

“I was wondering, ah. If you might be interested in a midnight stroll with me.”

“Of course. This book has been dreadfully boring; any more of suffering through the history of our illustrious country and I’d have gotten a headache.”

“You get a headache reading even the most interesting stories, honored brother,” Fallyn replied.

Though another would have made it sound like an insult, from her it was soft and endeared. Fallyn was by far the smartest in the family, a girl who took to arcane knowledge like a vampire to blood, and yet she didn’t lord it over the others the way Count Caradoc did. Bo had never enjoyed reading; he too often watched the letters flip themselves around on the page, dancing a mocking jig until he would rather crumple the pages than suffer another word.

Caradoc was frustrated by this unexplainable difficulty. Fallyn didn’t mind it, as reading aloud brought her peace, regardless if her audience fell asleep to the sound of her gentle tones.

Tonight reading was not on the menu. Fallyn padded behind him, silent in the torchlight that illuminated their dark stone home. Theirs was a proper keep, a defensive stronghold riddled with tiny nooks and crannies which only someone raised amidst the darkness could navigate. Thus, it was a simple matter to find a slip rushing through the halls, a bundle of laundry in his arms.

Plucking him off the ground by the scruff of his clothes, Bo lifted the yelping creature closer to his face. He wasn’t remarkable, particularly, stout and with a light dusting of stubble on his cheeks, which were bleached out with fear. Still, Bo held him out to Fallyn, with a grin. “Does this prey suit your tastes, dearest sister?”

Green eyes glittered. Like precious emeralds, like ancient moss thickly grown. Fallyn bit her bottom lip and ducked her head shyly. “Yes, Bo.”

Off they went, with the halfling wiggling about in Bo’s grip incessantly. Little whimpers escaped his clenched jaw, and each sent Fallyn shivering. It was the only reason Bo allowed him such vocalizations. If left up to him, Bo was far pickier about those he tormented.

Still he could appreciate that which brought his sister such joy. And when she was done, and their set-aside tiled room was soaked in blood and worse from waist height down, she smiled at Bo with her blonde hair gone red all the way to the tips. “Brother, I’m afraid I’ve lost a bit of control with this one.”

“I’m aware,” he replied.

“Would you like to do the honors?”

Their slave was a goner anyway. Baring his teeth, Bo stood from his wrought iron chair in the corner of the room. “Thank you kindly, sister.” And then he brought down his heel on the face, crushing it inwards in a single movement.

There was silence for a moment, then, ringing after the screams of earlier. All that remained were the constant drip, drip, drips from Fallyn’s hair.

“You never were one to hold back,” Fallyn mused, after a bit.

“And yet you are. What’s bothering you?” Bo took a step, ground his teeth together when his heel ached, then caught Fallyn’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Is it about my imminent moving?”

Her eyelids fluttered, and she looked to the floor. “It is,” she admitted. “I cannot imagine life without you. Caradoc has been discussing marriage, as of late, and I fear he may become adamant with your departure.”

Snorting, Bo leaned down to make eye contact, icy blue on verdant green. “I’d like to see him find a man you cannot run off in a blur of tears and wounded pride.”

Shoulders slumped, and she conceded, “I suppose you are right. Still, I’m hardly eager.”

**Rule number two: It is better to be the man standing behind the throne, than the one sitting in it.**

A gift from Caradoc.

When their parents died under mysterious circumstances, people outside the family delighted in theorizing who could possibly have been the one to finally succeed in poisoning the count and countess. Drury had joined them, albeit with a youthful eagerness for revenge despite the bare handful of hours he’d spent with either victim.

Amatus may or may not have figured it out. Grace certainly did, though she never seemed much bothered. Fallyn was only a child.

Bo and Elska, though.

“We are going to lose allies for this,” Elska hissed, passing the bottle back to Bo. “He is a  _ fool. _ A twice damned,  _ bloody _ fool.”

Taking a swig, Bo wrinkled his nose at the flavor. “He doesn’t care what is best for the family, only what benefits him.”

“He’s the  _ eldest son.  _ Had he but an ounce of patience, he would have benefited from a  _ true  _ assassination! Damn him.”

“I don’t think so,” mused Bo, taking another swig. “You and I both know he wasn’t Father’s favorite. If the choice had been left up to our parents…”

Drunk as she was, it took Elska a couple of seconds longer than it  _ should _ have for her to realize what Bo meant. When she did, she took the bottle from him, cool as could be, and set it on the bedside table. All the wooden fixtures in her room had been stained a deep red, and she wouldn’t risk booze spilling on them and ruining the beautiful hue. With a deep breath, her fingers left the bottle, shaking just slightly.

And then she hugged him. It was tight enough to ache, but Bo didn’t mind. He might snarl and grimace at pain, but truthfully it had never been something he sought to avoid. Oftentimes, the opposite was true. And so he hugged her back, and thought.

Was he sad about what Caradoc had done?

Mother and Father had never loved Bo particularly. How could they? With the weight of their lands and holdings on their shoulders, family was too much of a time consumer to indulge in often. And with seven children, the one right in the middle was hardly their greatest concern. Slips would handle the minutiae of keeping their heirs alive; it wasn’t as though he was abandoned, or neglected.

But they had always been there, on the periphery of Bo’s life. Dealing with things beyond what a meer thirteen year old might concern himself with. Good for a pat on the head, a cool smile when he bested his tutor in mock combat, a sip of stolen brandy at dinner.

To never see them again…

It wasn’t as though Bo sobbed, then, but he held onto Elska and promised himself that his sister would not meet the same fate.

**Rule number three: The strong prevail over the weak.**

In the end, schedules worked out such that Amatus and Drury were the only ones able to see him off. Grace’s absence was, well, a grace, but Bo wondered what the others would be thinking that night at dinner. Would his empty seat leave a hole in the conversation?

“Visit us soon,” Amatus said, strangely gentle.

“Of course,” said Bo. “As soon as I’m able.”

“Tell me if they let you fight a dragon! Oh, oh I  _ so _ hope you get a sword with some enchantments, so that you can behead your foes with ease! Or perhaps rot them, or - or set them aflame!” Drury seemed to have completely forgotten his earlier mocking of Bo’s decision, and was now almost jealous of it.

Rolling his eyes, Bo replied, “I doubt that should happen any time soon. I may be strong, brother, but I’m hardly a hero of our Prince of Devils yet.”

Apparently, this meant nothing to Drury, who continued to prattle. He may have been feeling a bit nervous, actually, to have Bo leaving for an indeterminate amount of time, but Bo thought the separation would do his little brother more good than harm. The boy needed to learn to idolize the family less, and their God more.

For his part Amatus seemed deeply lost in thought. He hadn’t outright stated that he disapproved of the decision, and so Bo was unsure what to expect when he reached out a hand to needlessly help Bo into the stagecoach. What came out of Amatus’ mouth, however, was nothing like his usually meek sibling’s normal advice.

“When you were born, you were one half of a pair of twins,” he murmured, holding Bo’s hand in both of his. “Your brother died within minutes of being born, however. Your umbilical cord was wrapped around his throat.”

Shocked silent, Bo simply stared at Amatus. His eyes were precisely the same shade as Bo’s - as their mother’s.

“You were born strong, Bo,” he continued. “You were born a fighter. But you are not invincible.”

With that, Bo was sent off away from the D’Amour county for the first time since he was ten. Since before his parents died. Since before he realized the advantages granted by his place squarely in the middle of the family.

**Rule number four: Your weaknesses can be strengths, when shown to the right person.**

Life in the temple was not, actually, that different from life at home. For one thing, the large campus kept devout somewhat insulated from the rest of the city, which meant that Bo was as surrounded by wealth as always. In a way, he thought it a shame; Bo was curious about the outside world, and since he found books untenable, he sought to learn via experience.

Slips were omnipresent as well, shifting like little ghosts through the halls, dancing at the edges of red-trimmed black skirts and capes worn by the clergy. Bo had taken a shine to one, a child-like woman named Haddyr, who had looked him  _ directly in the eyes  _ when he’d first arrived. He had developed a habit of trying to steal moments of conversation with her, which she engaged in only reluctantly and with great suspicion.

This was all much to the despair of the woman who was actually  _ supposed _ to be holding his attention. Maralictor Ildiko was a stern, humorless lady, in part because her station far away from fellow Hellknights did not reflect well on her (and she knew it).

“If you were going to follow around clerics and slaves all day, I don’t know why you didn’t choose to join  _ them.” _

“Maralictor, I would never,” Bo pressed a palm to his chest as if wounded. “To turn my back on your great teachings? What a loss it would be!”

“Your sense of humor is horrible,” she replied, the irony of the statement utterly lost on her. And then she swung her bastard sword once again.

Managing to lift his sword in time to block was a feat Bo wouldn’t have been capable of two weeks ago. Despite her shortcomings, Ildiko  _ was  _ a very good teacher. Bo ducked, tried to swing his sword’s tip down so that hers would fall to the side of his shoulder and his would hit her hip. She deftly sidestepped, and the next thing he knew her blade was near enough his throat to make him sweat.

“Fast learner,” she commented, begrudgingly. Bo grinned with all his teeth.

Wheel sideways, blade behind his back for a moment - nothing protecting his front but his boiled leather breastplate, and her blade wasn’t blunted - and then the greatsword was pressed to the small of her back, but it was the flat, not the blade, and that was through no fault but Bo’s wrist faltering at the wrong moment.

“I have an excellent teacher,” he told her.

As thanks, she kicked his ankle so hard he fell onto one knee. Staring down at him, not a trace of a smile in sight, Bo thought she looked magnificent. A shame she hadn’t seemed to return his interest, when he’d expressed it several nights ago.

“Again.”

“Yes, Maralictor.”

Days here differed from home in one very important way, he supposed. He always ended them bruised and aching.

This didn’t prevent him from entering the dining hall and turning heads, of course. Bo knew that he was not a man suited to the shadows, because a light such as his shone too brightly for that. Rather than remain hidden, he would use the very beauty which caught their attention to obfuscate his plans. As such, when one of his fellow trainees slung an arm over his shoulder, Bo ruffled the man’s soft, red hair with ease.

“Josiah, what’s gotten you into such a good mood?”

Leaning close to Bo’s ear, Josiah sent a wash of hot, mead-scented breath over his face. It wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as it should have been. “Nothing in particular, truth be told. But I did see your training today, and you are learning  _ quickly.” _

“Thank you kindly,” Bo replied, gripping Josiah’s hair a bit tighter and shaking his head. “Means a lot from the longest-standing trainee paladin.”

“Hey!” Josiah started to yank away, which pulled Bo with him, until Bo was faced with a choice between falling off the bench and letting him go.

To make a scene, or not? There were already eyes on him. A reputation as someone boisterous, energetic, and not particularly shy - well, it meant no one would be confiding in him, but it also meant they wouldn’t be keeping an eye out for  _ his _ machinations. So, he grabbed Josiah by the scruff, and took him down too.

They rolled on the floor for just long enough to send up a chorus of laughs and a barked shout from Ildiko’s direction. Bo managed to get Josiah pinned without much trouble, though he had an inkling that the man had engineered things this way intentionally. This was only compounded by the obvious hardness Bo noticed when he sat back on his heels, right over the man’s waist.

“Do you yield?” Bo asked, both bemused and amused.

“Sure, sure, but I want a rematch later!”

Josiah clasped Bo’s hand in his, and they pulled one another to their feet. Josiah smiled at Bo, who caught himself musing that it was much like a cat smiling at a hawk. Something so used to being the predator, it didn’t know when it should feel fear.

Obliviously, Josiah said, “Your room, some time tonight? If you’re not otherwise occupied.”

Someone whistled, and then laughed as Bo replied with, “Gladly.”

Dinner was nothing compared to the D’Amour county’s finest chef’s cooking, but Bo didn’t mind particularly. Not with what was waiting for him after, not with the back of his neck burning from Ildiko’s glare much the way his muscles burned from how she’d pushed them, and  _ especially  _ not with the considering gaze he caught Haddyr levelling his way.

Sex with Josiah was a good sight better than the lamb stew, and indeed better than the services of the whore Caradoc had hired for Bo’s fifteenth birthday. For one thing, he didn’t defer to Bo, even though Bo was clearly superior, and would  _ always  _ come out on top. Always.

For another, he absolutely knew how to use his dick. Four years and many times more experience had ensured that, and Bo was more than happy to reap the rewards of all his hard work. If it meant he had a limp in training tomorrow, well, Ildiko might very well end up underestimating Bo, and thus give him his first victory over her.

At the end of it all, Bo wished for a mirror on his ceiling. Flushed, blond hair in disarray, blue eyes gone glossy - he knew he looked a sight.

Already, Josiah was asleep, but Bo would make sure to find a partner who could properly appreciate this sight next time.

**Rule number five: Never take an ally for granted.**

Squinting down at the papers in his hands, Bo tried once again to parse Grace’s cramped, cursive handwriting. He knew she  _ could  _ write without all those flourishes and slants and curlicues, and also knew that she would never write a letter to him, specifically, without them. Then again she wouldn’t write a letter to him at  _ all  _ if it wasn’t something important, so he couldn’t exactly ignore it.

_ Dearest, darlingest brother Bo, _

_ I hope my letter finds you in good health. Were I to discover you’ve suffered indigestion or, hell forbid, food poisoning at the hands of those hacks in Egorian, why, I might very well have to hop into a stagecoach myself to get to your side posthaste. To nurse you back to health, of course. _

_ Speaking of indigestion, our beloved Amatus finds himself more and more in a state as of late. He hasn’t taken ill, no, but his expression might lead one to believe otherwise. Pale and pinched, as though smelling something truly foul. I would suspect the servants of neglecting his chamber pot, were I not so sure Caradoc would beat them soundly on the spot for such an oversight, and were I not also assured that they know this. _

_ No, rather than a malady of the body, I suspect something has taken root in his mind. Which of course means that it is far more insidious, and must be watched closely lest it progress past the point of salvaging. Unfortunately, I find that I may soon be in a position where I cannot be the one doing the watching; indeed, none of us here in D’Amour county shall be. _

_ Truly I wish there were anything I could do to spare you the responsibility, dear Bo, but alas the duty has fallen to you. I know that it shall wound you deeply to take time away from your most important services to our King of Hell. Even more so, if you should deign to write letters on what your observance of Amatus reveals. However, I think it would behoove the both of us to set aside our difficulties for the sake of the greater good. _

_ Your concerned, vigilant sister, _

_ Grace D’Amour. _

Doublespeak upon doublespeak. Bo disliked Grace’s brand of manipulation because it seemed petty, above all else, and did not incline him towards becoming her ally, family or no.

Unfortunately this time the choice seemed to have been taken away from him.

The second of his trio of letters was from Elska. Upon receiving it, Bo had immediately checked the wax seal for any signs of tampering, and been only somewhat relieved when he didn’t find any. Reading the contents had done nothing to assuage his worries.

At least it was less a chore than Grace’s was. Elska wrote clearly, with neat lines that were easy enough to cover as he went, in order to prevent his eyes wandering between them and meshing disapparate sentences into a single, amorphous monster.

_ Dear Bo, _

_ Today I am unsure if the news I bear is good or ill. Caradoc is getting married. _

_ To a daughter of Jeggare, no less. They are only a branch family, in fairness, but even a small branch of the Jeggare’s will be blessed with wealth beyond our imaginings. _

_ He has been having meetings with her for months, but I thought nothing would come of them. More fool, I, for dismissing her solely because of Caradoc’s lack of passion. _

_ Our brother has ever been a cold man, but it becomes more and more obvious with each passing day. His bride-to-be is beautiful enough to set even my heart fluttering (if a bit too ditzy for my tastes), and yet he looks at her as one would an empty chess board. _

_ For my part, this means any plans we may have previously mused over in the dead of night have become much, much more complicated. I think that perhaps I shall have to leave our ancestral home, as you have, if I seek to change my lot in life so significantly. _

_ Yet I find myself reluctant to commit to such a path. To leave behind the rolling plains and the way they give in to wooded paths… it troubles me, that nostalgia should rule my heart so, but would it not be a greater crime to deny the truth? _

_ Enough jesting. I have more news, this much happier than the last. _

_ You will soon find yourself in the company of our brother Amatus! You will find that he is much changed since you last saw him. For the better, I hope, as you’ve always gotten along best with those much different from yourself. _

_ Listen to him well, but do not take his words to heart, for the man twists them in ways to which only he is privy. _

_ Eagerly awaiting your return post, _

_ Elska. _

Here was a much easier letter to parse. Bo spoke Elska’s language, much as Elska spoke his. Caradoc was, intentionally or otherwise (and both Bo and Elska would bet on it being intentional), pushing Elska down the line of succession.

Of course, Elska didn’t intend to take it sitting down. Bo wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do to support her, but he had certainly made a few friends here in the capital who might be happy to lend a hand, and his own strength had grown such that, if things were to come to blows, he knew whose side would win in a fight.

Then there was the fact that both Elska and Grace were in agreement on Amatus needing surveillance, though Elska seemed much less incensed about it. What did it say, that both his sisters thought he would side with them, when one was so much more disapproving of Amatus coming to visit him?

Why was Amatus visiting, anyway?

Turning his eyes to the final letter, Bo laid eyes on a hurried-looking chicken scratch almost as hard to parse as Grace’s cursive, if only because he’d seen it so rarely.

_ To the family’s evening star, _

_ I am sure that the others have written to give word of my recent activities already. Perhaps you are even now poring over conflicting accounts, trying to determine what is true and what is artifice, or misdirect. _

_ I would say that I intend to speak plainly, but in this falconry we call a home I fear it would only set you even further on edge. In the absence of honesty, then, let us at least speak directly. _

_ A little over a fortnight from now, you will find me in the temple to Iomedae in Egorian. I am sorry I will not be joining you in the Midnight Temple, but I find I’ve no stomach for human sacrifice. _

_ Wishing you the best, _

_ Amatus D’Amour. _

Short as it was, Bo thought perhaps it said the most of the three. “Speak plainly, indeed,” Bo muttered to himself.

Someone cleared their voice behind him, and Bo turned abruptly, his hand halfway to the sword leaning in its sheath against his desk.

Instead of another paladin trainee, however, or an irritated superior, Bo found a slave. Short, dark-haired, pallid. Brown eyes that looked the color of coagulated blood in candlelight.

“Haddyr, what are you doing here? I didn’t call for a slave.”

“I was sent preemptively,” she replied stiffly, bowing in a way that made it clear her iron spine found the action unnatural. “Do you not desire for new linens?”

Truthfully, his bed  _ was  _ getting a bit crusty, and Bo could only luxuriate in the scent of sex for so long before he got sick of it. Waving a dismissive hand, he turned back to his letters.

Rustling sounded behind him. Bo shuffled Elska’s letter to the bottom of the pile, slipped Grace’s into a drawer, then squinted once more at Amatus’. Even though it wasn’t necessary, he allowed his lips to shape the words as he read, though no breath of sound escaped him.

The sounds of Haddyr changing the bed paused, just for an instant, then resumed. Bo wanted to turn to check if she was looking at him; unlike Ildiko, hers was not a near physical touch upon him. Perhaps her subtlety was why she’d lived so long in a place which killed a slave for every week of the year.

“Can you read?” Bo asked, suddenly.

For a beat Haddyr didn’t reply. “I’m sorry?”

“Can you read?” Bo turned sideways in his seat, the plush red upholstery smooth as silk under him. “It is a simple question.”

Visibly biting her tongue, Haddyr inclined her head in silent assent.

“You wouldn’t happen to be willing to read me my letters if I asked, would you?”

She blinked, clearly put on the back foot, but her tiny frame did not waver. “I do not believe my will is relevant, Sir. I read what you ask me to read.”

“Yes, but your will would be rather convenient, wouldn’t it?” Bo smiled a smile he knew was disarming to most, but would only seem predatory to her. “Makes you less likely to bullshit me.”

“All due respect, if you sought a lack of  _ bullshit,  _ why not do the reading yourself?”

Five, four, three, two, one. “Because it is difficult,” Bo admitted. “And I need not suffer through if I could have you do it for me.”

“...Why should I?”

“Because I suspect I will be leaving the city before too long, and I should have at least enough pull to take a slave with me.”

**Rule number six: Take every opportunity to travel, for each will create numerous opportunities of its own.**

One of Bo’s favorite things to do was break things. Depending on what it was, it broke differently, and Bo had always found that fascinating. Porcelain and glass were satisfying, obviously, for the way they shattered with barely a blow.

But his favorite had always been steel. Hard metal, not brittle,  _ strong  _ all the way through. To break something like that required determination and skill, and the result was all the more satisfying for it. If Bo had been born common, he thought he might have liked to be a blacksmith, just to see something much stronger than his bones bend under his will.

Since he wasn’t born to a life of using his hands for such things, he instead chose to find an analogous experience among the people he was intended to manipulate.

“Will he trust you?” Ildiko had asked, an expression on her face that seemed almost corpse-like. Gone was the sternness, instead replaced by eyes that belonged more on slaughtered livestock. It was how Bo knew he couldn’t risk bullshitting her, as it were.

“More than he’d trust a stranger,” Bo had answered honestly.

“Would you say you’re close?”

“Closer than I am to my other brothers, certainly.”

Because it was true, and because the inquisitors were hardly eager to turn down help, she agreed. Bo was granted free reign to visit Amatus at Iomedae’s temple, and while he  _ wouldn’t  _ go when he was meant to be training (no matter what Grace had implied), he happily made weekly trips the bare mile distance.

Sometimes he brought Haddyr with him. He worried, that first time, that she might try to run away. He should’ve known she was too smart for that.

Everything was going well. Suspiciously so, actually, and Bo knew Amatus had picked up on his tension. He was reminded of it each time his brother sighed long-suffering and tired.

Indeed, he did look a bit ill. Bo thought perhaps Grace’s mocking hadn’t been unfounded after all. Not that Bo would suggest he see a physician, of course. Especially not when Amatus came to him with a request that the two of them go to Andoran together.

“Yes!” Bo had answered, startling both Haddyr and Amatus.

“Yes,” Ildiko had agreed, when he’d gotten back to the Midnight Temple.

So began a very long trek eastward. Theirs was a small procession, choosing to travel light as Iomedae’s clerics had suggested. Or, should he say Iomedae’s  _ other  _ clerics, now that his brother had found his calling?

“They would have sent me with one of their own paladins, if not for you,” Amatus said one night, sitting around a campfire Bo had set and eating a meal Haddyr had cooked. “I am glad, truthfully, that you came.”

“Do you not wish for the company of your fellows?” Asked Haddyr.

Amatus looked a bit startled at the question. He always was, when Haddyr spoke so frankly, even though she’d been doing nothing but getting more bold the further they got from the city.

“It’s not that,” Bo answered for him. “He just doesn’t know what he’d do without his favorite brother around!”

“I don’t know about favorite. Drury is an amusing thing.”

“A  _ thing,  _ you say! He cannot possibly be your favorite.”

Good humor glinted in Amatus’ eyes for the first time in ages, and Bo’s heart felt a bit like banked embers coming back to life. “Well, it’s hardly Caradoc.”

He’d never been close with Amatus, but maybe that was a shame. Regardless of if the man turned out to be a coward with no stomach for true power, was it not better than being, well. Like Caradoc? And Haddyr let her guard down around him, which was important for Bo’s purposes.

“Is that breastplate standard issue?” Amatus asked, when the meal was done and Haddyr was gone to clean the bowls.

Bo looked up from where he’d been polishing the inverted pentagram on the inside of the plate armor. “When sent out of the country, yes. The world is not a kind place to those it fears.”

Sadness lurked in Amatus’ blue gaze. He’d decided they weren’t the same after all, being a bit less icy than Bo’s. More like what he’d heard the ocean resembled. It was not his favorite color, to say the least.

**Rule number seven: Under no circumstances do you allow yourself to be manipulated.**

To be manipulated without one’s knowledge? Certainly, that was a possibility, nearly an inevitability. At that point the most important thing was to catch it as soon as possible. Hopefully before permanent damage was done.

But to know, to see it coming, and to allow it to happen anyway? Unforgivable.

To close one’s eyes to the truth and allow oneself to be  _ led  _ in such a way.

It made Bo sick to his stomach.


	2. Breaking Down

**Rule number eight: When unsure, keep silent.**

Letters from Fallyn didn’t require Haddyr to read them. Not in the slightest. She overcompensated for Bo’s shortcomings, in fact, and had a tendency to write painstakingly neatly, even when he told her it was unnecessary. From anyone else it would have felt condescending, but she had a way of making it endearing.

_BELOVED BROTHER,_

_DRURY SENDS HIS REGARDS. I FEAR HE HAS INHERITED THE SAME AILMENT OF THE EYES AS YOU, BUT NOT HALF THE GOOD SENSE YOU HAVE. HE REFUSES TO SIT STILL WHEN I TRY TO READ TO HIM. SOMETIMES, I FIND IT HARD TO BELIEVE THAT HE AND I ARE THE CLOSEST IN AGE, WHEN WE HAVE SO LITTLE IN COMMON._

_MY NEW SISTER IN LAW BEHAVES MORE LIKE AN AUNT TO ME. SHE IS MUCH LIKE DRURY, AND HAS TWICE THE PRETTINESS AND HALF THE BRAINS PEOPLE TRUTHFULLY NEED. STILL, SHE IS GENERALLY PLEASANT COMPANY. SHE AND DRURY HAVE BEEN GOING HUNTING OCCASIONALLY, THOUGH THEY BRING LITTLE BACK BESIDES TALL TALES AND INSIDE JOKES._

_I MISS YOU DEARLY AND ENVY AMATUS HIS CONTINUED TIME IN YOUR PRESENCE. WERE IT NOT FOR YOUR TRIP TO ANDORAN, I FEAR I MAY AT THIS VERY MOMENT HAVE BEEN BEGGING CARADOC PERMISSION TO GO TO EGORIAN._

_DESPITE THE CHANGING OF THE SEASONS INSISTING THAT DAYS GROW LONGER, I FIND MY NIGHTS MORE AND MORE OFTEN DRAWN INTO SEEMINGLY ENDLESS HOURS. DO NOT FRET, I AM CERTAIN IT WILL PASS SOON, BUT IT IS A TRIAL FOR NOW._

_HOW I WISH YOU WERE HERE TO FILL MY NIGHTS WITH FUN ONCE MORE. ELSKA TRIES, BUT IT’S NOT THE SAME._

_WHY DOES IT RAIN SO RARELY HERE? NONE OF MY BOOKS WILL TELL ME._

_YOUR LOVING SISTER,_

_FALLYN._

On those last few sentences, her handwriting had faltered slightly. Not enough for someone normal to notice, but Bo thought Haddyr might, and he knew Fallyn wasn’t so naive as to think Bo wouldn’t. _DO NOT FRET,_ big capital letters, an emphatic order he couldn’t possibly follow.

Setting the paper down in her lap, Haddyr stared down at it for much longer than could possibly be necessary. Bo wouldn’t have noticed (much to his chagrin, so occupied was his mind) had she not then said, “Do you think you’ve made the wrong choice, in joining Asmodeus’ paladins?”

Suddenly Bo felt the need to straighten his back. He resisted, and simply said, “No, why?”

“Well, I understand you had nothing to lose by leaving your family. Amatus has… explained some things to me. But clearly, you got along with them better than he did. You didn’t _need_ to leave them.”

“I can benefit the ones I care for more while we’re apart.”

Silence, except for the crackling of the fire in the hearth. They’d been lucky with this most recent town; it was right by the border, and therefore had an inn at the ready for visitors from abroad. That the inn even had private fireplaces in some rooms had Bo delighted a mere hour ago, before the messenger had run up to him with a letter bearing his house’s seal.

“Do you think - she would be happier over the border?”

This time Bo couldn’t stop himself in time - he squared his shoulders, and hurriedly forced them to relax once more. “How do you mean?”

“I’ve heard - their People’s Council has all the power, you know, not nobles. So whatever laws the people most want, _that’s_ what gets put into place. Amatus, he said that he feels stifled, in Cheliax. And your sister Fallyn seems much the same way.”

Opening his mouth, Bo almost blurted, “She’s not stifled!” But then he shut it again with a _click._ Her letter certainly gave that impression, even if it was only because she used imprecise language in writing.

_WHY DOES IT RAIN SO RARELY HERE?_

Haddyr would see, in time. They would get to Andoran and it would be much the same as Cheliax, People’s Council or no.

**Rule number nine: Do not pretend to be right when you are wrong, to yourself at least.**

Andoran was nothing like Cheliax.

Within ten steps of the border, they were attacked by bandits. This, on its own, wasn’t a problem. Haddyr wielded a pair of kitchen knives like daggers, deadly enough to make Bo’s mouth water, and Amatus healed any injuries they may incur. Of course, Bo also had his greatsword. They’d repelled bandits before.

But then someone jumped in to help. Without Bo invoking Asmodeus’ name, without Bo invoking his _own_ name. Just, a stranger.

Amatus healed the moronic farmer afterwards, who laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of those scoundrels,” the man said. “They shouldn’t show their faces around here for a while after a beating that sound.”

“He did nothing to help, and our foes escaped,” Bo muttered to Haddyr. “What fool would look so self-satisfied after that poor showing?”

“Bo, it is very rare that you show your upbringing, but now is one of those times.”

That night, Bo drew Haddyr away from the cot she had clearly intended to sleep in. Her face was set in a frown, not resigned, but not fighting either.

“Will this settle you?” She asked, pressing one dainty hand to his chest.

“If you do your job properly, certainly.”

Framing it as a challenge had been the right choice. Afterwards, despite the way he bit and scratched, despite the fact that her body was simply too small to fit him comfortably, even despite the fact he felt he’d found his equilibrium again, she seemed… normal.

A bit flushed, certainly. A bit glassy-eyed. Her hair, which was growing out from its customary bob after so long on the road, was in disarray. She looked almost as good as Bo thought he must. But she did not look wrecked, or ruined, or broken. She was even up and preparing tea, a single bag staining the water black as night.

 _And that was what I’d wanted,_ Bo realized.

The next morning he drove her to ready the wagon earlier than was necessary, then dragged his feet on actually leaving, a thing which normally had her tapping her fingers on her arm in a rare show of annoyance. Today, the petulant act only made her smirk, and Bo regretted what he’d done the previous night.

Not so much that he wouldn’t do it again, of course. He would just have to make sure to do a better job, this time.

Only a couple of days were left on the road, after that, though unfortunately they did not see another inn in the interim. Bo refused to fuck Haddyr in the dirt, mere feet from his brother. Amatus would never be able to look directly at him again.

A benefit to Bo’s actions was that now, for whatever reason, Haddyr had decided talking to Amatus within Bo’s earshot was fine. And they talked about _meaningful_ things, things which actually put apples of color into Amatus’ cheeks and had him gesticulating more wildly than Bo could ever remember.

Things like democracy, and righteousness, and the abolishment of slavery - that last had Bo snorting, and Haddyr rolling her eyes. Bo didn’t see why the first of those things had to come with the other two; property need not have a vote, as they were not proper citizens. And he doubted the politicians of this land were any more honest than the nobles of his.

He did admit, it was intriguing. Openly fighting for power? Requiring the cooperation of the population, rather than of a select few driven mostly by nepotism?

Righteousness was just a mask that struggle wore, here, he decided. To make themselves more palatable to Iomedae’s fools, for instance.

“It’s a shame we aren’t heading to Almas,” mused Bo, on the last day of their journey. “I would have liked to talk to the Supreme Elect, if I could.”

“He would hardly deny a noble from Cheliax audience, at the very least,” said Amatus. The firelight warmed his eyes further, until they were nearly Fallyn’s green. “Though I admit I am more interested in the Supreme Vicar’s opinions.”

Beyond the little ring of their campsite, the woods chirped and rustled with familiar sounds. Bo was reminded that Andoran was once part of Cheliax, and wasn’t so far off from either the time or the place. Yet it was so, so different.

“I dislike the Supreme Vicar, truthfully,” Haddyr said. It sounded like a guilty admission, but Bo caught her shrewd look through the flames, her lightly furrowed, delicate brows.

Sounding a bit hurt (against all logic), Amatus asked, “Why?”

“I do not believe the single person the population put their trust in should be then influenced so directly by clergy. There is no rule stating that the Supreme Elect himself couldn’t be a member of the clergy, as well. What would Andoran do if the Supreme Vicar became a redundancy? It seems… I do not know, I suppose it simply rubs me the wrong way.”

“That makes sense,” Amatus replied, after a beat. “Though I do not agree, if only because the current Supreme Elect is himself a paladin, and the Supreme Vicar hasn’t been superfluous for him. And I am, admittedly, a bit biased.”

“At least you admit it,” Bo stretched out to kick his shin, causing Amatus to jump a bit.

He did not say that he agreed with Haddyr, though his motives were different. An advisor with that much power, openly acknowledged by the populous? That was a weakness. They would be better off with a single man presiding over the Executive Office - a president, if you will - and a more private primary advisor, who could themselves be mostly free of outside pressures.

Elska would thrive, in a situation like that. Personable and beautiful, and sharper than any blade Bo had ever seen; remove the question of birthright, and she would be the indisputable champion of their family, so to speak.

**Rule number ten: Do not allow doubt undue power over you.**

Within hours of arriving in Falcon’s Hollow, Bo had decided he found the town thoroughly distasteful, Haddyr had managed to exchange him a covert, curled-lip look that declared much the same, and Amatus had disappeared into the disused temple of Iomedae on the edge of the town. Bo and Haddyr hovered near the entrance, garnering curled-lip looks of their own from sawdust covered passerby.

“This place is near enough to Cheliax, I might think we’d stepped back over the border,” muttered Haddyr to Bo.

“How so?” Bo didn’t hide the indignant distaste in his voice. “These peasants carry themselves more pridefully, and yet seem to bathe less.”

Haddyr snorted, then elbowed Bo’s side, and Bo found himself smiling for a split second before he caught it. Since when had the slave gotten so comfortable treating him as an equal? Thoroughly disquieted, he almost didn’t notice Amatus walking back out of the temple, a sealed letter in his hands.

“Bo,” he said. And then again, when Bo didn’t immediately respond, “Bo!”

“Sorry, Amatus, what is it?”

“You’ve a letter. From our little brother, apparently. I’m sorry, I only just ducked out to give it to you, but Lady Cirthana and I were not yet done with our talks, so I’ll, er, be right back.”

Nodding, Bo watched Amatus disappear back into the temple, and then handed the letter off to Haddyr. She deftly opened it with one of her kitchen knives, and once again he was arrested by her ease with which she handled blades. He shook himself out of it rather quickly, however, when she unfolded the parchment.

Chicken scratch covered the page, plenty of crossed out words and wobbly letters proving that it was, in fact, Drury’s writing. This by itself was so odd, Bo couldn’t possibly imagine what the contents might be.

As if knowing he was curious, Haddyr simply stared downwards for a long moment, unspeaking. The tension wound up in Bo’s shoulders, but before he could order her to get a move on, she began to read. It was oddly softer than usual, but he didn’t have to wait long to find out why.

_Dear Bo,_

_Elska is dead._

_Fallyn_ ~~_sais_~~ _says_ ~~_its_~~ _it’s her fault. I don’t know, but she was the 1 who found her._

 _Caradoc says it probably was. He isn’t upset about it, because he says Elska was a_ ~~_liabl_~~ _liability to the family, so it isn’t a bad thing. But I think it is._

 _Fallyn showed me where Elska hid her_ ~~_jurnals_~~ _journals._ ~~_Pleas come_~~ _Please come home soon so I can give them to you._

 _Fallyn also says it hasn’t rained in months, but it did just yesterday. I’m worried. Something is wrong with her. Caradoc won’t help, and his wife is_ ~~_bis_~~ _busy with funeral arrangements. I don’t think she_ ~~_wood_~~ _would help anyway, though, because she doesn’t know Fallyn well._

_From,_

_Drury D’Amour._

Silence between them, for a while. A _long_ while. Even after Amatus came out of the temple to tell them they should likely find a place to spend the night, since his meeting would take longer than initially planned. After Haddyr quietly handed him the letter and told him he should probably read it. After they together went to the Sheriff's house, correctly guessing that he would be able to direct them to a place where they could stay.

They were far from silent that night, nearly breaking a borrowed bed between the force which Haddyr exerted hanging onto the headboard and Bo used to pound her into the mattress, but they didn’t _speak_ so much as growl into one another’s mouths, so it wasn’t much of a change.

Nor was it much of a change when, afterwards, Haddyr went looking in her bags for the tea she’d drunk after last time, and couldn’t find it.

Oh, she _started_ to speak, opened her mouth and said, “Bo, did you…?” But her voice trailed off, and her lips pursed, and she looked, briefly, as though she might cry.

“Hmm?” Bo simply hummed a response, a prompt for her to finish her question. And she didn’t, just like he knew she wouldn’t, and satisfaction seeped bone-deep through him. Like the dark stain of tea through water.

Still, she crawled into the bed beside him, and Bo sighed as he nestled his nose into her hair. She smelled like him, and trembled once, just lightly, when he did.

 _Elska is dead,_ Bo remembered.

If he was the one to tremble, now, then at least Haddyr couldn’t hold it against him. Mutually assured destruction seemed to have become the language they spoke together.

**Rule number eleven: Know the consequences; do not fear them.**

On the way back, Bo came to a few conclusions. The first was that Amatus’ meeting with Lady Cirthana was not part of some imminent plot to attack Cheliax, the way he was certain Ildiko had thought it was. Nor was it part of any kind of plot to annex the border town, the way Bo had grown to hope, against all odds.

In all likelihood this was intended to be simply a small step in a series of many, which would eventually… Bo wasn’t certain. Help the suffering temple to thrive? Grant Iomedae’s Chelaxian worshippers more freedom of movement (without alerting Asmodeus’)? It didn’t matter, because if Elska had taught Bo anything with her death, it was that plans in the long term had too many variables to be relied upon.

How ironic, that moving cautiously had turned out to carry so many more pitfalls. Not that Bo would choose Caradoc’s route instead, of course.

The second of Bo’s conclusions was that Haddyr was pregnant, but that didn’t take a genius to realize. He’d seen whores drink their teas after a night with him, or his friends, in the past. He’d also seen some who _hadn’t,_ and therefore wasn’t particularly fussed about it. What was one more bastard born to a Chelaxian slave?

Third, he had not been a fantastic paladin to Asmodeus.

This was something which had been lurking in the back of his mind for a while, admittedly. The knowledge that he was intended to spread Asmodeus’ glory, and had instead been preoccupied by his family’s dramatics. Caradoc had been right about one thing, well over a year ago now; Bo was hardly the most devout.

But what brought it to the forefront were the trio of flame drakes currently engaged in trying to murder Bo’s little party, and succeeding horrifically.

Within minutes of their sudden descent, they’d already laid Amatus to waste, thus forcing Haddyr to run to him and feed him a healing potion rather than join the frey. Which left Bo alone to hold their attention, a feat which would even under the best of circumstances be painful and unrewarding. Now, however, Bo felt a rare rage building up.

These things were hurting him, preventing him from getting back to the Midnight Temple, fucking with his allies - they needed to _die._

Tales of Asmodeus blessing his faithful with boons in battle were not uncommon, though their truthfulness was universally suspect. Bo had long thought that he’d rather a bought sword than a spontaneously blessed one, given that spells paid for fairly were surefire and known quantities. But now, of all times, he was desperate enough to pray.

 _Too little, too late,_ replied the resounding silence in his mind.

One bit his arm, though luckily he switched his sword to a one-handed grip at the last moment. When another lashed out at his opposite side, he swung, clumsy but strong enough to gouge into its orange scales.

Claws and teeth and tails, enough that he was having trouble keeping them all straight. He kicked and his armored boot definitely connected with _something;_ burning hot blood seeped into the joints, and a reptilian roar of pain echoed throughout the land, even drowning out the nearby rush of the River Foam.

Something stabbed him through the middle. _All the way through_ the middle.

Gritting his teeth, Bo brought the point of his sword up through the roof of one of the beasts’ mouths, sending it into convulsions that felled a nearby tree. One of its compatriots shoved the flailing corpse aside as Bo was, disorientingly, lifted _upwards_ using the thing impaling him.

And then he blacked out.

Next he knew, Amatus was cradling his cheeks, muttering, “Not you too, not you too.”

Strangely the apathy of his god did not shake Bo. Rather, it firmed something in him. Something which had begun when he was thirteen and an orphan, and had hardened over and over again over the years. When Fallyn had begun with her _itches_ and _rain_ and Bo had been the only one able to figure out how to break the storm clouds in her mind. When Amatus had broken everything their family believed in but still considered himself their brother, somehow.

When Caradoc had done exactly the same thing in such a way that Bo could not fault him for it. When Elska had died. When he’d broken the trust he’d slowly built between himself and Haddyr, over months and months.

**Rule number twelve: When you strike, do so decisively.**

Of course he had to leave Haddyr behind when he returned home for a brief visit with his bereaved family. She’d held his eyes, before being forced from the room by decorum, and after so long knowing how she spoke when they were on the road, and free to do so, Bo could read the message in those bloody eyes.

_Come back, or I will find you, and make you regret your entire life._

Luckily he planned on returning regardless of her wishes.

Each stop the stagecoach took to replace the horses, Bo and Amatus shared a short conversation. The long stretches in between were spent with Amatus’ head in a book, and Bo’s staring out the window vaguely, thinking about letters and conversations and a Hellknight glaring at him when he’d told her he would be departing again so soon.

“I accept it only because you grew during your time away,” she’d said. “And are hardly falling behind on your training. But you did incredibly poorly on the most important part of your mission, and that was reconnaissance. You know _nothing_ of what Iomedae’s cretins plan. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you of having wavering loyalties.”

The way Bo’d snarled at that was apparently enough to mollify her, but only just. “If you discover your brothers plans to be definitively treacherous, I want him _dead._ I don’t care that it would cull your family further; I don’t care if you think you could manipulate him to turn to our side. You kill him, or you determine he’s been loyal to Cheliax all along. No alternatives.”

“Yes, Maralictor,” Bo had said.

Bowing to her hurt worse than the soreness that sank in after hours and hours sitting stationary in a carriage across from his brooding brother. His armor was chafing.

Finally, Bo found himself standing in the entryway of the place he’d called home for eighteen long years. He’d expected to find it unsettlingly quiet, but instead, there was a riot of texture in the front entryway the likes of which he’d never seen, not _here._ Black flowers of every kind had been piled high in vases which he’d never seen before, but which almost universally were gilded in gaudy gold. He knew immediately who was responsible for the distasteful display.

Krizia Jeggare hugged Bo within minutes of meeting him for the first time, and he decided then and there that Elska would’ve been laughing her ass off if she’d been present. She’d likely been _overjoyed_ at the thought of putting Bo in the same room as his sister in law and just letting him _suffer._ He would’ve done it forever, if it would’ve brought her back.

But it wouldn’t, so instead he put one hand on either of Krizia’s shoulders and pushed her backwards. “Hello,” he said with his best charming smile. “It is such a shame we had to meet under these circumstances.”

If Krizia’s face hadn’t already been flushed with recent tears, Bo was pretty sure she would’ve blushed at his attention. She seemed the type, and she certainly was flustered enough when she replied, “Ah, w-well, Caradoc and I _were_ planning a visit to my parents’ house in Korvosa before all this unpleasantness, so p-perhaps you will be able to come with us then? Wouldn’t that be something, aha!”

Amatus gave Bo a shrug over her shoulder that pretty much embodied his feelings on the subject, still, he brought one of her hands to his mouth for a delicate kiss to the knuckles. Soft enough to have never thrown a punch in her life. “I would be honored, Lady Jeggare.”

“Please, call me Krizia. We’re siblings, after all! Especially now that, now that - oh, but you will be wanting to see Fallyn. She’s been in a state, poor dear.”

Fighting to keep himself from gripping Krizia’s hand hard enough to hurt her, Bo replied, “If you’d be so kind.”

As soon as the door to Fallyn’s quarters opened, Bo found himself with another armful of girl, though this one was much more welcome than Krizia. He held her tightly, felt her tiny frame shake against his.

Bo learned a few things from the words that spilled from Fallyn’s mouth, that night, once he’d barred the door and promised no one could possibly hear her. He learned that Elska had been struggling to find acceptable targets for Fallyn’s violent desires, due in part to a reluctance to cost the family quite that much money in slaves.

As a result, Fallyn had been tormenting some and then letting them go free, and others she had killed without supervision or permission. Eslka’s temper had been getting shorter and shorter with her, which only drove Fallyn to refuse her help more and more often.

And then she’d picked the wrong target. Someone who, as it turned out, had a human ally among the free servants. Someone whose ally had squirreled away enough money to purchase a rare poison, and someone who had no compunction with using it if it meant they would be able to prevent the torment Fallyn would inevitably desire before their death.

At least Caradoc or Elska would kill quickly, after all.

Except it turned out Elska was there, for once, and saw what the slip was planning before Fallyn did. She’d made a split second decision, one Bo could understand but would never have wished for, not in a million years. And she’d gotten in the way of the knife.

That slip had still been alive when they’d found her, but only just. Fallyn had excised most of the organs from inside her, which meant there was only one set of wails to lead help to her.

“Ally, my ass,” Bo murmured when at last Fallyn had fallen asleep. His hand didn’t pause in carding through her blond hair. “Caradoc always did have a fondness for poison.”

**Rule number thirteen: Do not allow irrelevant details to distract you.**

Leaving home once again, Bo found his bags quite a bit heavier this time around. Amatus was weary, and actually slept much of the journey, but Bo didn’t mind.

They parted ways within minutes of arriving back in the capital, both to their respective temples and worshipful sympathizers. Well, Josiah was sympathetic, at least.

Haddyr simply stared at Bo, when he held the books out to her. She raised one eyebrow and rested one hand on her still-flat belly, and said, “You cannot possibly expect me to read all of these aloud to you.”

“No,” replied Bo. “I want you to keep these hidden for me.”

Her round cheeks puffed a bit as she considered. Chipmunk-like and too cute for someone so deadly. “Why should I?”

“They detail covert ways in and out of my ancestral home, in addition to the current head of the family’s weaknesses.”

Mutually assured destruction.

“Why are you giving these to me?” Paradoxically she clutched them to her chest as if they were indescribably precious. They were, but she hadn’t even had a chance to read them yet, and couldn’t possibly know.

“My remaining family members cannot be trusted with them. Caradoc _cannot_ be allowed to find them, and Drury is too stupid to hide them well. Fallyn is too… unstable. Amatus would, well. I’m not sure, but I don’t trust him not to try to depose Caradoc, and he’s hardly the mastermind Elska was, so he’ll hardly succeed.”

“And you don’t want to depose him?”

“I never wanted my family’s lands.”

Rare as it was, Haddyr knew how to recognize Bo’s honesty when she saw it. Releasing the air from her cheeks, she looked between the books and him once more. “You trust me with this?”

“I could have you killed at any time, Haddyr. I could _personally_ kill you. This simply evens the playing field, so to speak.”

“You would kill me _now?_ Is there no part of you that wants to wait, say, seven months?”

“Why would I?”

They smiled at one another, and Bo found himself tilting his head a bit. A bird of prey, trying to see an animal on the ground more clearly. If he tried to grab her in his talons, he wasn’t entirely sure who would end up consuming who. But that was what made him want to break her in the first place.

A few more months passed, with not much changing. He received the one and only letter Caradoc had ever written to him in his life, and prepared to set off once more. This time around, neither Haddyr nor Amatus accompanied him.

No matter the conflicted feelings he had on the two of them, he certainly preferred their presences to Caradoc and his wife. The woman couldn’t seem to understand when to _shut up._ Of course, Bo was unfailingly polite, and he could see how she gravitated to him almost like a magnet. He supposed it wasn’t surprising, given she’d been in the company of her frigid husband for so long now, but he didn’t exactly find it flattering.

She wasn’t his type, after all. There were no hard edges to her at all.

Her family was much the same, he discovered upon arrival. She had an elder sister who seemed at once scandalized and fascinated by stories of Chelaxian “depravity,” as she called it. He saw in her a pale shadow of what haunted Fallyn, the same thirst for blood but lacking in the _need_ that demanded her hands be the one to draw it.

Liliana wasn’t quite as flighty as her sister, at least, but nor was she _that_ much different. Which was why, when Caradoc invited Bo back to his quarters after dinner, Bo was dreading the conversation he knew was coming.

“I think it’s about time you accept a wife,” Caradoc told him. Sternly, as though he were Bo’s father, which was itself a laughable concept.

“Why, dear brother? I’ve hardly anything to my name which an heir might inherit, and the family line is already secured with your marriage.”

“Firming the connection between our family and Jeggare would allow us to expand our influence past Cheliax’s borders. Not to mention, you’d be marrying a daughter higher in the line of succession than my wife is.” This last fact gave Caradoc an expression akin to a child sucking on a lemon slice, and Bo fought back a smirk.

With the prospect of marriage in front of him, it wasn’t hard. “I will not be marrying her. Politics are not my forte, brother, and I doubt I’ll be any help to you abroad. Especially considering my training cannot bear many more delays.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” said Caradoc. “You know as well as I that you’re a manipulative man.”

“Did you almost call me a bastard?” Bo snorted. “That is _rich.”_

“No, _I_ am. As are you, though for some reason you pretend otherwise.”

“I pretend nothing, brother,” Bo was surprised to find he didn’t mind Caradoc so much, like this. And then he remembered Elska was dead.

At least Caradoc dropped the marriage talks, for now.

**Rule number fourteen: Optimism and realism need not be mutually exclusive.**

The best part of this particular trip was that the bulk of it was done by sea, and Bo found he _loved_ the ocean. The _endlessness_ of it.

He did not love Varisia, though Liliana had given him one interesting tidbit before parting. Something about a group commonly called the _Heroes of Sandpoint,_ and how she would write to describe their adventures to him. Much as he was loath to talk to the woman more than necessary, they sounded. Well. Interesting, to say the least.

Nevertheless, he did not look back when the ship landed in port. The endless expanse of ocean could wait for him. Haddyr, and Amatus, could not.

Bo stared at his daughter with more bemusement than anything else, the first time Haddyr placed her in his arms. “What did you name her?” He asked, genuinely clueless as to what the answer might be.

“Alecto,” said Haddyr.

“What does it mean?”

“Of course you want to know that, first,” she blew her hair out of her face. It truly was too long, now, but Bo didn’t know who would cut it for her. It wouldn’t be _him._ “Constant anger.”

“That is…”

“Surprised you approve?”

Bo was left with two answers to that. Either a nod, or. “What would it take you, to give up on me?” Needless to say, he chose the former.

Amatus loved her. He didn’t know she was Bo’s, of course, but he likely suspected it. Ildiko certainly did, and disapproved, but she hadn’t had the child killed yet. Bo might’ve, actually, if Haddyr hadn’t been _so_ careful to keep her sequestered away most of the time. He barely saw her, and that was how he liked it.

**Rule number twelve. Rule number twelve. Rule number twelve.**

Finesse was not Bo’s preference, but he could manage it, when necessary. Heating a letter opener over a candle flame, he listened to the sound of Amatus playing with a crawling infant in the other room. It was a good thing his brother hadn’t seen him enter this room, and even more so that he hadn’t handed off this letter to a courier yet.

He found the evidence he was looking for, in there. Though he wished he hadn’t.

_To My Lady,_

_B. softens with each day, I believe. You must have faith in goodness even in the darkest of these nights, I implore you._

_C. is a different story. E. had information which we might have used, but D. gave it to B. I hope in time he will share it with me._

_In absence of that I believe our current plans are best. Not much has changed on my end, but Z. says a sparrow will be arriving “soon.” The falcons will not harm it so long as I am here, I assure you. Please rest easily._

_Love,_

_A._

Even if the coded way he spoke hadn’t clued Bo in, even if the third paragraph of the short letter was a bit beyond his understanding, there was no ambiguity there. Thank Asmodeus their parents had chosen to name each child using a different letter of the alphabet.

“Bo?”

Amatus had somehow managed to open the door without Bo hearing a thing. Luckily, he’d already closed it behind him, cutting off Haddyr and Alecto’s line of sight. “What are you doing?” He asked, voice shaking.

“Nothing you need be concerned by,” said Bo. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, distant. “I am softened, aren’t I?”

A sudden rush of words spilled from Amatus, some kind of magical incantation, but Bo cut him off with a single swipe of his sword. Amatus’ head was nearly sheared clear from his shoulders; all that kept him in one piece was a splintered spinal column, leaking both blood and clear fluid. The stench of piss and shit filled the room quickly, small as it was.

Arterial spray had caught Bo’s face. He could feel it drying. But the letter, that was still clean, and so Bo wiped his hands on his clothing and pressed the hot knife to the back of the removed seal, re-melting it until he could stick it back on the letter as though it’d never been removed.

Then he took a deep breath, and left the room.

Haddyr didn’t gasp. Didn’t avert her eyes. She _did_ snatch Alecto backwards, causing the child to squawk and flail even while her mother’s dainty hand covered her eyes. Blue eyes, like Bo’s.

If she’d asked, “What have you done?” Bo would have struck her down there. Her and the child, with the blade still dripping. If she’d given voice to the question ringing through his mind.

He gripped her wrist, when all she did was sit and stare. Pulled it away from Alecto’s face.

Blinking up at him, she smiled. She didn’t recognize the blood for what it was; why should she? And she would hardly remember the incident, young as she was, so why was Haddyr trying to hide the truth from her?

Bo smiled back.

And then, wordlessly, he left.

**Rule number fifteen: In repetition lies madness.**

“It’s your reward,” Ildiko said. “For following orders as well as you have.”

The sword was gorgeous. It had a ruby set in the hilt, and when Bo picked it up, it was warm as if the silver steel had been left in the sun for a long time. Even then, it did not burn him, instead thrumming with a strange kind of energy.

It lit aflame, with a strange kind of fire that danced red and orange and seemed to suck light inwards, rather than giving it off. Shadows bent towards the blade like eyes bent towards Bo when he entered a room.

“You aren’t going to wait until I’ve been further tested to grant me a boon like this?” Bo cocked his head at her. “It’s the sort of thing most people receive when they’re done with their training.”

“You might very well be,” she replied, somewhat resigned. “You’ve not been paying as much attention to training as you have to those letters of yours.”

It was true, that Liliana’s tales drew Bo in. But not for the reason he thought Ildiko was assuming. The heroes of sandpoint were heroes indeed, it seemed, because some of the stories Bo heard about them… they reminded him of ambition. They reminded him of being the man standing behind the throne.

“Maralictor, will you grant me permission to plan my own mission?”

**Rule number sixteen: Know when retreat is the wisest option.**

Was it cowardice, to leave in the middle of the night, or subtlety? Bo didn’t know.

For whatever reason, he felt compelled to leave Haddyr with a wrapped bundle that, should she leave Cheliax, would prove immensely useful. It contained both a small fortune in coin, and a pair of daggers he was _certain_ it was illegal for her to have. She would find a way to hide them, though. She hid all manner of things Bo gave her.

Cowardice or subtlety. It didn’t matter, because the end result was the same.

Bo on a ship, headed to Varisia in search of a legend in the making. Cheliax was what it was, and he wasn’t particularly eager to completely overturn his homeland’s entire ruling structure. But Varisia? Why the hell not.

He swore to god, to _his_ god, that he was going to _change_ something, this time around. Rather than wait around for other people to decide now was the time to change things themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hate Bo? Love him? Please, tell me! Lemme know if you all wanna see him maybe... flip alignments? Die a horrid death? I would say "be tortured by Haddyr," but she's too good to sully her blades with his blood.


End file.
